


High Tide

by ZammyShad



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Dreams vs. Reality, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mental Instability, Post-Neo World Program (Dangan Ronpa), Slow Burn, all the remnant of despair children deserve better and this is their recovery, recovery fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 03:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14179920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZammyShad/pseuds/ZammyShad
Summary: “I’m glad you were the first voice I heard.” Soft, full of a devotion only the divine could expect.“Oh Hajime, just my luck I was the first one to find you.” Hajime. The name tastes familiar across his tongue, striking a chord deep within his chest -- an ache blossoming into newfound gratitude.Hajime.





	High Tide

There’s a boy standing in the water, back turned to soak the bright sun no doubt burning already darkened skin. His shadow dances across the waves, bright and cerulean, translucent and beautiful in the way it shifts in the soft breeze. He turns and smiles, eyes closing and laugh bubbling from throat, echoing across the sand. A step here, a step there, and suddenly hands are gripped with the boy’s own, pallid palms clasped tightly within olive grasp. 

“I’m glad you were the first voice I heard.” Soft, full of a devotion only the divine could expect. 

“Oh, Hajime, just my luck I was the first one to find you.” Hajime. The name tastes familiar across his tongue, striking a chord deep within his chest — an ache blossoming into newfound gratitude.

_Hajime._

Yet shadows shift, the sun now warmer across jacket laden shoulders. The water suddenly feels too cold, too lifeless, as if the world was draining the happiness from their solitude, their moment. Hajime blinks, smile faltering at the edges, something darker clouding over his eyes. 

“ _Komaeda._ ” Lifeless, just like the sea. The sun is blazing now, too hot and too much. Shoulders shrug in uncomfortable anxiety, Nagito’s eyes running from Hajime’s own. They’re not the same, hazy and disinterested, coloured red like the sky.

_Like the sky?_

He can’t help it, the sudden realisation that this is innately _wrong._ Hands pull themselves from the other’s grasp, ocean tide swallowing up the impact from his rushed retreat. Lips part on words that never come, throat locked up as Hajime’s eyes grow sharper, his shadow morphing longer, tendrils slinking down its back in a curtain of hair.

“You aren’t Hajime.”

Vision doubles, a field of white clashing against black. Komaeda winces, head throbbing as one side exists in the now, with Hajime’s smiling face and incessant platitudes drawing him in, while the other shows a hulking man, void of colour and heat and anything in between. The sky there is red, mixing with the blue of the other and drowning his sight in purple, blacks, and browns.

“You’re — ”

* * *

“You’re Izuru, aren’t you?”

There’s a static echoing in his ears, Komaeda’s outward expression vastly less unnerved than the way heart pounds against thin rib cage, lungs straining to handle the knowledge, the memory, he’d just witnessed. Grey eyes latch onto Izuru, pleading silently for an answer and scanning for hidden red, scorched and blazing like the world before dawn.

Before it’s _end._

A hand unexpectedly steadies his shoulder as he rises, body weak from time spent locked away. Izuru pauses him, stills his hurried movements with gentle pressure and warm smile reminiscent of _burning sand, laughter,_ and a last minute _splash_ against normally frigid skin. 

Izuru’s hand moves, falling away yet still laid out before him, offering help silently, patiently.

_Hajime._

“ — no, you’re, uh, Hajime Hinata, right?” Hand reaches out, an image, memory, vision flashing before of two hands clasped in front of the ocean, yet red nails stand out _starkly against_ white and tan, sight swimming as head throbs again, world’s clashing. The static from before grows louder, blurring out everything but the focus upon their hands, so familiar yet so obnoxiously different. Who was he again? 

_Izuru Hinata? Hajime ... Kamakura?_

“They’re both of me.” 

Chest heaves a sigh of relief as reality forces its way forward, crashing through the static and quieting it down. Hajime’s voice rings clear and true, causing a warmth to rise up within chest, neck, cheeks. Komaeda’s eyes soften as he’s tugged upright, hand falling away while vision reverts back to normal, colours muted and red nowhere to be found.

He’s tired of red.

“I suppose I should thank you for waking me up.” Polite, short, easy; vernacular of a politician, a thief. Gaze remains fixed ahead, anxiety crawling across skin in waves, rushing over him like a buoy in the sea. If he can’t look, the pain in his head won’t start. And if the pain in his head doesn’t start, there won’t be anymore conflict.

He doesn’t want to think about the program. Not ever again.

“ — _I believed in you._ ” Dried lips confess like a man on his knees, conviction welcomed in the face of all they’ve been through, real or not. He looks up then, breath catching on the brightness blossoming behind the other; a halo God placed upon this angel of death, titles curator and saviour matched within mossy and scorched eyes.

_They’re both of me._

_Hajime._

**Author's Note:**

> i have absolutely no idea what i'm doing. kudos and comments are appreciated.


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